Wichita eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1886-1890, 1887-05-26
EARNESTNESS.
Oh! let all the soul within you
For the truths sake go abroadi
Strike. let every nerve and sinew
Tell on ages-tell for God.
a C. Co1a.
A TERRIBLE SECRET.

She was dying, and, although but 80
years OF age, appeared to be 20. Gasping
for breath, racked by nervous tremors,
and paler than the sheets upon which she
lay, it seemed as if her wild and sunken
/ eyes already beheld some f;ghtful vision.
Her sister, Suzanne de Therelles, six
years her senior, knelt beside her, sobbing
bitterly. Upon little table, drawn close
to the side of the couch, clean napkin
had been placed and two lighted tapers,
for they were awaiting the arrival Of the
priest, coming to give extreme JUNCTION
| and the last communion.
The apartment had that sinister aspect,
that air of despairing adieux, peculiar to
the chambers of the dying; walls of nedi-
cine stood about upon the furniture;
linens were heaped in the corners either
by the foot or the broom, and the chairs,
disordered and huddled in groups, seemed
as if affrighted, and death was there, con-
cealed and waiting.
sad and touching one, and talked of far
and near through the neighborhood.
Suzanne, the eldest, had been devotedly
loved in her youth by a young man, hand
some and good, and to whom she also was
much attached. They were fiancees and
| only waited the day fixed by the contract
to marry, when suddenly Henri de Sam
pierre was taken i'll and died The despair
of the young girl was frightful She
swore that she would never marry, and,
putting on the dress of the widowed,
which she never again left of, Mile. de
Therelles kept her word
One morning as she was sitting in her
room thinking sorrowfully of the trouble
that had fallen upon her SO cruelty the
doom opened, and Marguerite, at that time
not yet ID years Of age, threw herself into
her sisters arms, murmuring between
her sobs: "DO not cry, Suzanne. Oh, do
not cry. 1t breaks my heart to see you
grieve. Surely you will not cry all your
life, for II will never leave you; never!
Like you will never marry, but remain
with you always
Suzanne embraced her tenderly,
touched to the heart by the child's devo-
ton. Nevertheless, she did not believe
her; the day would come to Marguerite
that had come to her-she would love,
and then she would be alone again.
Suzanne, however, was mistaken; years
passed on, and the little one held to her
word. In spite Of the prayers Of her pa
rents and the supplicat!Ons of her sister she
resolutely refused to marry. Beautiful,
charming and general favOrite among
the young men of the neighborhood, moth
ing could alter her deCisiOn-she would
never quit her sister.
And thus they lived together side by
side in inseparable companionship. But
Marguerite was always sad, more detected
and melancholy, if possible, than Suzanne
herself. 1t seemed rs if the sacrifice she
had made, sublime as it was, had literally
crushed her. She grew old faster than
her sister; her hair turned as white as
snow before she was 80, and, constantly
suffering she seemed like one struck by
some strange disease which always preyed
upon her.
Now she was dying, and dying first In
twenty-fOur hours she had spoken but
once, and that only to ask for the cure
IBID him come" she whispered
hoarsely, IBID him come, and quickly"
Suzanne had obeyed. Lying upon her
back her haggard features drawn by
frightful spasms, her lips moving without
uttering a sound, her eyes fixed ard
sunken, Marguerite de Therelles was
nideous to look upon. Sobbing bitterly,
Suzanne still knelt beside her
Suddenly there was the noise Of foot
steps on the stairs, moment later priest
i'll his surplice entered the room and
leaned above the dying woman As soon
as she saw him she began to toss rest
lessly about the bed
God pardon you, my child said the
old cure tenderly; God pardon you and
give you peace! The hour has come-you
must speak,
Marguerite shuddered from head to
foot as she heard the cures words. Again
and again she struggled to obey, but her
voice broke and died away i'll a stified
rattle.
''Sit by me, Suzanne" she whispered |
at last; sit by me that you may hear and |
listen"
Suzanne, astounded, rose to her feet |
and seated herself beside her sister
God give them strength and send upon |
them thy healing mercy" said the old |
cure solemnly, lifting the hands of the two |
women and holding them in his own.
Then Marguerite began.
Pardon me, Suzanne" she cried;
pardon your wretched sister All, if you
could only know how have suffered. how
l have dreaded this hour, dreaded it all
my life long,
Pardon you, my little oner' Suzanne
repeated; but what am l to pardon you
for: Have you not sacrificed yourself for
me? Have you not been an angelo
mo, no." said Marguerite wildly, ''be
silent, l beg. l will tell you all. 1t is
frightful, frightful; but do not stop me-
Speak must, even to the shameful end
Do you remember Henri, Suzannes' ap-
pealing abruptly to her sister Suzanne
started and turned pale Remember
Henri? Would she ever forget him.
Yes" she answered, Il remember
him.
He died." continued Marguerite, be
fore was 15-yes, before was 10. How
spoiled l was How determined to have
my own way, But never mind that now;
ct Us return to Henri You remember,
10 you not, the first time he came. II
vas TO bring Us news Of father. l saw
him dismount from his horse He was so
handsome, SO noble looking / waited in
he corner Of the salon all the time he was
aiking- Children are so strange, so ter
'ible!' she nurmured, il tones Of agony.
After this he came almost every day.
him always, always. was far
more artful than you knew. my sisto., for
thought only of him, and, child as was,
loved him
when they told me he was going 10
marry you it was blow-a blow so ter
lble that night after night I spent the
lours in crying that should have been